Chapter 20: Divided Elves
Back at Aetherthorn, the tension was so thick, even the wind dared not blow.
"This is madness!" one of the elders hissed.
"What did we just witness?" another gasped.
"This is impossible... How did he survive the White Fang?"
A wave of unease swept through the gathering. Elves who once held their heads high with superiority now looked at each other with nervous eyes and furrowed brows. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire, unable to contain the disbelief that a human—a child—had not only survived a Night Stalker... but had escaped the wrath of the White Fang.
The White Fang, a beast of legend, an apex predator among monsters that not even the veteran dares to mess with. For generations, it had been the silent death in Runewood’s shadows, the nemesis of every elven clan and a curse whispered in the cradle songs of younglings. No one—elf, beast, or man—had ever returned from its fangs. Until now.
And that someone was Auren.
Rhiki stood before the water projection screen, his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins on his neck pulsed like a coiled snake. On the screen, Auren’s blurry image faded as the scene dissipated, but the memory burned in Rhiki’s mind like a searing brand.
He loathed the boy. Not just for surviving. Not just for fighting. But for defying the natural order—for breaking the silent rule that humans were prey, not players. And most of all, for putting Rhiki’s title and plans at risk.
Rhiki had never expected the bait trap they’d planted—subtly sneaked into Auren’s bag with runes laced in meat scent and blood magic—to attract the White Fang itself. The goal had been simple: eliminate the boy, maybe even get him injured after being mobbed by the beasts. Enough to push him out of the Trials without dirtying his own hands. But now?
Now they were neck-deep in a political disaster.